


Spring, Hope and New Beginnings

by IncomingAlbatross



Series: Jack O'Neill's Multiple-Choice Past [2]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012), Stargate SG-1
Genre: Belief, Blizzard of '68, Friendship, Gen, Happy Ending, Hope, Jack Angst, Probably not Canon Compliant for ROTG, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 06:04:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13675782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IncomingAlbatross/pseuds/IncomingAlbatross
Summary: Easter Sunday, 1968: A lonely winter spirit is shown a chance for a different path, and takes it.Easter Sunday, 2006: An Air Force General talks to his once-fatalist friend about hope, and contemplates new beginnings.





	Spring, Hope and New Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Which Jack is the tag for, you ask? Oh, the snarky, irreverent, seemingly-irresponsible one who is actually seriously heroic when there's a need for it, and who would _especially_ rather die than see any harm come to a child.
> 
> . . . What do you mean, that doesn't help?
> 
> I'm trying to make this series intelligible for Stargate fans, at least, without needing knowledge of other fandoms. But if you're an ROTG fan . . . honestly, most of it doesn't have Stargate elements, but if you want to understand the ending a little better, here's what you should probably know:
> 
> Stargate SG-1 is about the US military secretly fighting evil aliens, who used to kidnap and enslave humans from Earth several millennia ago and now rule a galaxy full of said humans' descendants. Jack O'Neill is the long-time head of the military operation's premier team [SG-1], and a wisecracking but surprisingly inspirational leader. Teal'c was once the extremely-reluctant commander of one alien's human armies (used mainly to fight other alien's human armies and oppress his own human slaves, of course), but defected to follow O'Neill and fight the false gods, or die trying.

  _April 14, 1968_

It was Easter Sunday. All across the world, people were celebrating, their hope of new life strengthened for another year. Even the little children, some of whom had trouble fully understanding the day, had their minds on springtime and Easter eggs.

 

"What did you _do_ , you useless icicle?"

 

However, in one area of the United States, the children were going to be disappointed.

 

"It's not like I _meant_  it to be this bad!"

 

Because the children's eggs were distributed each year, as any one of them could explain, by the Easter Bunny - better known, to those who moved in magical and supernatural circles, as a short-tempered Pooka with an Australian accent, but a provider of hope and happiness in either case.

 

And said provider had run into an unexpected complication. A very cold, very snowy complication.

 

"You didn't mean it to be _this_  bad?" he repeated incredulously over the howling wind. "Oh, sure ya didn't! What did you mean, then?"

 

"Maybe," the frost spirit facing him shouted back, "I meant to get you to stop obsessing over your work _all the time!_  You can stand to be distracted once a decade or so, y'know!" His appearance was that of a silver-haired adolescent, with frost sparkling over his clothes and a staff like a shepherd's crook in his hands. His face was set in a desperate-looking anger.

 

"My _work,_  ya selfish brat, is making little kids happy. Look what _you've_ done today!"

 

The boy did so, whipping his head around defiantly. His ice-blue eyes widened, though, as he took in the scene.

 

The snow was already four inches thick on the ground, mixed with sleet and freezing rain, and falling fast. The wind seemed to be coming from all directions at once. The sky was covered in dark gray as far as the eye could see. And in the center of it all, floating between the fierce winds, was the boy.

 

He flinched away from the sights around him.

 

"I - I didn't mean to, Bunny," he said desperately. "I wouldn't do this to the kids on purpose. Not to kids!"

 

The Guardian of Children's Hope was in no mood for forgiveness, though. "Don't even try that with me, _mate,_ " he spat. "You just said you wanted to distract me from my work-"

 

"I just want somebody to see _me_  for once, okay?" the boy shouted. "No one - ever - _sees me!_ "

 

At his words, the wind picked up. The snowfall, which had appeared to be stopping a moment ago, suddenly came down with new fury.

 

The Easter Bunny threw up his arms. "So ya had to ruin my day - a day which actually _does_  something for somebody - just because I'm more successful than you?"

 

The boy screamed in wordless frustration, and the wind rushed at his antagonist as if to carry him away.

 

But the Bunny planted his feet firmly, glaring into the wind. "Get out of here," he shouted, "you selfish little waste of space! You've never cared for anybody but yourself, have you?"

 

There may, possibly, have been a hint of betrayal in the tone. But the boy was far too distraught by then to hear anything but the brutal words.

 

He gave one last, anguished glance around at his work, and did as the other spirit said - shooting straight upward, into the clouds and beyond them before turning and letting the Winds control his path.

 

He gave a few more wordless shouts of anger and frustration, before his rage began to dissipate. Then, as he thought more deeply about what had passed, it found a new target.

 

"Ruined _Easter,_ " he grated out. He had no one to talk to but himself and the Winds, but that was hardly new for him. "I ruined Easter . . . for all those kids down there. . ."

 

He curled around his staff, hiding his face. "I just want somebody to see me," he whispered miserably. "Two hundred fifty years - nobody's _ever_ seen me-"

 

He punched the air. "And the spirits are all 'too busy, Jack, too busy doing _real_ work, go away and do something useful now,'" he quoted mockingly. "I can't _find_  work to do, I don't know what I'm doing here, I don't know anything! It's not my fault the stupid Moon put me here. Don't know why he did, I just mess things up, break things. . ."

 

His mind went back to the devastated landscape, and the furious Guardian of Hope he'd left there.

 

"Stupid - useless - I don't want to be here, nobody wants me, stupid, good-for-nothing. . ."

 

His mutterings of self-loathing were suddenly interrupted by a breeze in his face. He had ridden the Winds long enough to know when one wanted his attention, so he lifted his face.

 

"What is it, Wind?" Odd, this was one of the ones he didn't know very well. It smelled like the western deserts, though, wild and warm and dry.

 

It blew against him again, then veered around. It wanted him to see something.

 

"What - Oh." Jack looked around. Apparently, while he'd been lost in his emotional turmoil, the Wind had found him a destination. He was now hovering just a foot off the ground, in front of a cave mouth in a deep canyon.

 

"Ohhkay," he said slowly. "You brought me . . . somewhere?"

 

The Wind pushed at him again, this time strongly enough to give the impression of a voice - a soft Texan drawl, to match its scent.

 

_Go on in, then, little brother_. _He can help._

"He?" Jack said aloud. It could be anything in there . . . though the Wind seemed pretty nice, actually. Not like the jerk one in Norway who'd steered him into Jotun territory that one time.

 

Besides, he considered, what did he have to lose? Not much.

 

He planted his bare feet on the earth, staff gripped firmly in both hands. "Okay," he said. Would've been nice if his voice had sounded a bit stronger, there, but it'd have to do.

 

He took a step into the cave. And another. And another.

 

Was that firelight in the distance?

 

It was. As he ventured farther and the daylight weakened, the firelight grew stronger and stronger, till at last he came to a bend in the tunnel. He turned and found a chamber in the rock, with a merry fire dancing in the center.

 

At first, the fire dazzled his eyes so that he thought the cave was empty. He jumped when a voice spoke.

 

"Young Jack Frost," it said. It was a rough, sharp voice, though it sounded merry too. Somehow, the sound of it made Jack's hair stand on end.

 

"Do you know who I am, Jack Frost?"

 

He started to shake his head, warily, but stopped as his eyes adjusted. He peered beyond the fire, and saw the figure sitting on the other side of it.

 

It was humanoid in its basic form, but the proportions weren't human. Neither was the fur all over, nor the sharp-clawed dexterous paws that held an Indian flute, nor the head - most of all not the head, with its broad triangle ears and pointed, grinning snout -

 

"Coyote," he blurted out, gasping. "You're Coyote."

 

The ancient Trickster of the Americas inclined his head, running out his long tongue in another grin. "Good enough," he said in that wild, canine voice. "I heard, young Jack Frost, that you do not like the life you lead. It looks from your face as though that might be true."

 

Jack lifted a hand to his face and flushed - though his cheeks turned a cool lavender, not red - as he realized his earlier tears had frozen in place, leaving shining tracks of ice down his face. He almost wiped at them with his sleeve, before realizing how pointless that would be.

 

Instead he dropped his hand back to his staff, pretending he wasn't embarrassed. Coyote had already seen them, after all. He could hardly make things worse by leaving them.

 

Coyote nodded, and Jack wondered if that meant he'd done something right. "So, Jack Frost," the Trickster said. "Are you unhappy?"

 

"Yes," he said without stopping to consider. He didn't need to consider. He'd been unhappy for centuries, off and on - and this day was very much an _on._

The Coyote nodded again, and sat in silence. Jack, confused, followed his lead, fidgeting nervously. Normally he'd make a smart remark at this point, but right now (and in this company), he just didn't feel up to it.

 

Eventually, though, Coyote sighed. "If you are unhappy," the spirit said slowly, "do you have something to ask me?"

 

Jack straightened, a wild hope rushing through him. "Wait, I - I can - um. . . Can I have a deal? Coyote?"

 

Everyone knew about Trickster deals. Not everyone knew the same things about them - _Insanely risky! No, the best you'll ever get! -_ but everyone knew Tricksters were _powerful_.

 

Coyote laughed. "What do you want?"

 

"I want-" _people to believe in me,_ he almost said. But he knew better than that. The _last_  thing you wanted to do in a deal was rush.

 

"Um. If I ask if you _can_  do things, does that count as asking _for_ them? Or is it just . . . a question?"

 

"There is no price for asking questions, and they are not binding."

 

"Okay. Uh, thanks." He took a deep breath. "Can you . . . can you make people - I mean, humans -  believe in me? See me? . . .Touch me?"

 

Coyote paused. "That is something you have to do yourself, Jack Frost. But I can give you things and tricks which will help you."

 

Jack nodded. The first sentence had been far less than his hopes, but the second more than he had really expected. He smiled.

 

"Think to yourself, Jack Frost," the Trickster said. "Is there anything else that might make you happy?"

 

Jack looked suspiciously at him. If Coyote wanted him to think, Coyote had something specific in mind. That could be dangerous . . . right?

 

But he remembered something another spirit had told him once.

_"Where most people go wrong with these things,"_ his advisor had said,  _"is by trying to trick a Trickster. Oddly enough, they appreciate honesty. Be straightforward with them, and they won't try to get around you - well, usually, anyhow."_

Well. He hadn't been friends with that particular spirit for a long time - he had trouble keeping friends, he thought wryly - but the advice was still good. He'd follow the path Coyote pointed out, at least for now.

 

_Something else to make me happy. . ._  At first, it was hard to think past his long-held objective of getting believers.

 

Maybe . . . getting friends? But that sounded like creepy magic, the kind that messed with people's minds.

 

The chance to have a long, _two-sided_  conversation with the Moon? He smirked at the idea of actually getting to confront the one that had put him - and left him - in the world. But somehow that didn't seem quite big enough to be what Coyote was thinking of.

 

So what did he want?

 

Acceptance. People to see him, and interact with him. Friends. A place in the world. He wanted an end to the isolation, to the cold, to the lack of purpose. . .

 

He gasped.

 

A sudden thought had overwhelmed him, as all the pieces fell into place. Something that would end all his problems. Something that he'd given up hoping for so long ago, he'd forgotten he wanted it.

 

He looked at Coyote with desperate eyes. Coyote smiled.

 

"Can you. . ." He took a deep breath.

 

"Can you make me human?"

 

Coyote clapped. "That I can do, Jack Frost. You would be the same as you are now, body and mind - just living boy instead of ghostly spirit."

 

He grinned so hard his tear-trails cracked and fell apart. "I want that," he said earnestly.

 

"Hmmm," Coyote rumbled. "For that, my price is three favors."

 

He blinked. "Three favors?"

 

"Yes. If I do this for you, you will owe me three favors, which I collect when I wish to. You owe me three for one because you will have less power than me, and so your favors will be smaller."

 

"Oh. Yeah, I get that." He nodded, but then he thought of something else. "But what if. . ."

 

"What if what, Jack Frost?"

 

He really, really didn't want to offend the Trickster. But he had to ask. "What if the favors are, um. . . What if I think they're something . . . I _shouldn't_ do?"

 

Coyote sighed. "All the clever ones ask that. There will be a morality exception attached, so I can't make you do something you think is wrong." Coyote fixed him with one yellow eye. "Of course, the exception is done by magic, so it will know if you think it wrong or not. You cannot refuse just because it is hard, or unpleasant."

 

Jack nodded slowly. "That . . . yeah, that's fair."

 

He straightened. "So, I become a normal human boy, in exchange for doing you three favors, with nothing immoral?"

 

"Those are the Terms, Jack Frost."

 

He smiled.

 

On another day, he might have said no - he probably would have, in fact. He was capable of having fun almost all the time, and he also generally managed to believe he had a purpose - that the Moon had made him for something real, something necessary.

 

But today? When he'd just ruined Easter for a bunch of kids, failed _again_  to get any humans to see him, estranged the Easter Bunny forever, and generally failed and had his self-worth ground into the dirt?

 

Well, okay. Even today, he _could_ keep going, if he had to. But he didn't have to.

 

And he wasn't going to.

 

"I accept," he said, holding out his hand the way he'd seen men do in business affairs. "And _thank you_. For the terms."

 

He thought he saw a hint of surprise in the Trickster's eyes, before the Coyote reached across the fire and grasped his hand. "So do I accept. The deal is sealed, Jack Frost."

 

And there was a whirling all around him, in his eyes and his ears, like fire and music and dancing. He dropped his staff. Coyote's paw was gone as well. He was standing on nothing.

 

Then the whirling straightened itself out and went away, and he was on solid ground again. He was standing in the sunshine . . . and the sun felt  _warm_.

 

He spun around, looking at his new surroundings. He'd been stupid, he realized dimly, in not asking to be sent somewhere more convenient than Coyote's cave when he changed. Apparently the Trickster had thrown it in anyway, though.

 

_Be straightforward,_  he remembered, smiling. Seemed like that had been good advice, because he was pretty sure this was Chicago. Outside a church in Chicago, to be specific.

 

He looked at it, wondering if it was a good place to seek shelter. Probably it was, because why would Coyote have bothered sending him to an inhabited area if it weren't one he could get along in? Anyway, despite the sun's warmth, it was April in Chicago and he was wearing a thin jacket. He was _cold,_ and he wasn't going to keep standing around outside.

 

He jogged up the church steps, and tried the door. Sure enough, it was unlocked, and he slipped inside - into glorious warmth.

 

He closed his eyes, basking in it. He could _feel_ it going deeper, driving out the cold from his bones.

 

"So this is what it feels like," he murmured, smiling blissfully. "I wonder what it feels like to be _hot._ "

 

Then a sudden surge of music brought his attention back to the church. He was in the entrance room at the moment, and now he saw that there was some sort of service going on inside - or no, it was finishing up. The - minister? Priest? He thought this one was a priest - was coming down the center of the church toward the entrance.

 

Toward Jack.

 

"Okay. Okay, don't mess this up, remember they can see you now. . ." He grimaced. "And hear you, shut up, think _inside_  your head, Jack." He brought up a hand to cover his mouth.

 

Then he stopped in surprise. Instead of the pale, seemingly bloodless skin he was used to, his hand was a healthy brownish pink.

 

He stared. What else had changed, he wondered? He knew white hair wasn't normal in a kid, was his a different color now?

 

This discovery turned out to be the best thing that could have happened to him. For, by the time the pastor and parishioners entered the room, Jack was absorbed in a delighted examination of his new brown hair, deep brown eyes, and warm-colored skin in the nearest reflective surface, and almost forgot to be nervous at all.

 

(The key word perhaps being _almost,_ but his glowing smiles toward everyone who made eye contact compensated nicely for any fumbles or shyness.)

 

The priest looked as though he wanted to speak to Jack as soon as he saw him, but he was occupied from the moment he came through the doors. One of his parishioners got there first.

 

"Do you need help, honey?" the woman asked in concern, looking at his worn clothing and bare feet.

 

He shrugged, taken aback by the question. "I, um . . . I guess so, ma'am," he stammered.

 

She laughed. "My name's Patty O'Neill," she said kindly. "That's my husband over there. What's your name?"

 

He didn't think he'd _ever_ get tired of hearing that question. "I'm Jack, Mrs. O'Neill." He grinned at her. "Just Jack."

* * *

_April 16, 2006_

It was afternoon on Easter Sunday. Families around the world had been celebrating in the fresh hope of new life - those with children and those without them. And Jack O'Neill had managed to fly out to Colorado for the weekend, and was sitting on his back porch.

 

Well. He said his. Daniel had started renting it after Jack moved away (and after Daniel _failed_ to move away; take that, Pegasus galaxy!), but it didn't really make a difference.

 

"O'Neill."

 

"Yeah, T?" he asked, not turning from his view of the sky. He couldn't wait until nightfall - DC's light pollution was the _worst_. Of course, his cabin was really best for stargazing, but Colorado was way better than what he usually had to put up with.

 

"There is something I wish to speak to you about."

 

Now he did turn, concerned. A look at the big guy's expression said it wasn't too serious, but Teal'c didn't bring things up unless they mattered.

 

"Something wrong?"

 

"I do not believe it is serious. However . . . approximately a month ago, Daniel Jackson implied in passing that the tales of the Easter Bunny do not have a basis in fact. I found this curious, since you have always maintained he is real."

 

"Ah." Jack sighed, leaning back.

 

It was funny, on the surface, that Daniel was a nonbeliever, but he _was_ a lot more hardheaded than most people realized.

 

"Well, Daniel's an adult without any kids. Most of them lose their belief at some point." He turned his head toward Teal'c, who had sat down beside him at some point. Sneaky Jaffa. "I told you that, right? That a lot of people don't think they're real?"

 

"You did, O'Neill. However, I suppose I had not fully understood the extent of the disbelief." Teal'c frowned. "Even if it is generally only children who receive the Guardians' favor, how could those children forget their benefactors as they grow older?"

 

"'Cause it's all little things, Teal'c." Jack looked absently over the lawn. Daniel was letting it run down; too busy saving the galaxy, he guessed. His mind conjured up a picture of little kids running across it, searching for eggs.

 

He shook his head. "Eggs, a present or two at Christmas, a coin under their pillow instead of a tooth, good dreams . . . it's easy to stick it all on their parents, if they're losing belief in magic anyway. And I think kids get . . . less sensitive to this stuff, as they grow up. It gets harder for us to see things like giant bunnies, or sleighs in the sky, or magic sand."

 

"That is an unpleasant thought, O'Neill."

 

He shrugged. "Maybe so. I figure we should just be happy we get it at all. On Earth, anyway." He hadn't really been surprised to find out other worlds didn't have Guardians, but he had been disappointed. Hopefully, now that the Stargate had opened things up a little, they'd find a way around that - because he'd seen the rest of the galaxy, and boy, oh boy, could it _use_ some childhood magic.

 

"That is true, O'Neill." Teal'c looked contemplative - more than usual, even. "I am grateful for the chance to experience their gifts, even as an adult. Particularly on Easter."

 

Yeah, he remembered T had loved Easter from the start. Jack didn't know  _why_  Bunny had made him an exception to the kids-only rule (he suspected it was something to do with all the years he'd spent out of their reach, thanks to the snakes; the Guardians had loved Cassie, too), but the others had followed suit, and Jack heartily approved. If anybody needed an extra dose of joy and hope - especially back then - it had been SG-1's Jaffa.

 

He chuckled. "Remember when you got that first basket in your room, T?"

 

"I remember it well, O'Neill. Our teammates, when I asked about its presence, assumed it was a gift from some individual on the base." Teal'c smiled reminiscently. "Most likely you."

 

"Nope, no big furry ears on me." Jack fell silent for a moment. "So, just checking, buddy. Daniel's little comment about the Easter Bunny didn't really damage your belief, did it? 'Cause that'd be too bad."

 

"Not significantly, O'Neill. It puzzled me, that one so learned as Daniel Jackson would believe something contrary to fact. I also considered the truth of what you had said before - that many of those I know would think you had deliberately misled me, if made aware of my beliefs."

 

". . .And?"

 

"I found myself reaching the same conclusion as before, O'Neill. That the baskets come every year, and are not quite like any Earth product I have seen available for purchase. Also, that it is more likely for Daniel Jackson to be misinformed on this matter than for you to be deceiving me."

 

"Thanks, T. I think so too." He paused. "So, doubts all gone?"

 

"Indeed."

 

He straightened. "Great! Let's go get some pie."

 

Teal'c followed him. "I have been reliably informed that pie is not generally part of a traditional Easter dinner."

 

"Teal'c. I'm hurt. I thought you just said I wouldn't deceive you."

 

"On such a matter as the Easter Bunny, O'Neill. Where pie is concerned, I have observed your morals become . . . hazy."

 

Jack grinned and threw a comeback at his friend, but his thoughts were on Easter. On belief, and friends, and new life.

 

_I guess getting Teal'c as a believer was the least I could do for you, Bunny,_  he thought. _It may not have been thanks to you directly, but I of all people can understand getting new hope on Easter Sunday._

And General Jonathan J. O'Neill walked into his home, where his family was, laughing and talking and bumping into each other in their crowded kitchen, and let the centuries of cold and loneliness fade just a little bit further away.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're wondering how this could be "probably" not canon compliant with ROTG, well, I have three words for you. _Teenage Clone Jack._
> 
> . . . But yeah, I probably wouldn't go that direction if I wanted to really, properly fit SG-1 and ROTG into the same canon. I'm just saying you _could._ If you wanted to.


End file.
